


The Three…Witches?

by Luthienberen



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (US TV 1954)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Magic, Occult, The Scottish Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Escaping an occult out for their blood, Watson and Sergeant Wilkins find themselves donning the gear from the Scottish play at the behest of Holmes.





	The Three…Witches?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July writing prompts. Prompt No.3 When Shall We Three Meet Again? Have three characters - and ONLY three - appear in your work today.

“This is ridiculous Holmes!” protested Doctor Watson.

Sergeant Wilkins glanced nervously at the door to the dress room, barricaded with two chairs and props consisting of pots, swords and a reclining lounge chaise.

“Are you sure it will work Mr Holmes?”

“Of course!” declared Mr Holmes with a big smile and brandishing a pot of green make-up which smelled vile.

“What is more natural than to appear as the three witches from the Scottish play? Why our occult pursuers will think we are one of them.”

The doubt Sergeant Wilkins felt at this statement was echoed verbally by a very exasperated Doctor Watson whose eyes were flashing, even as he rubbed rather bruised knuckles from where he had punched more than one unlucky occult sorcerer.

“Perhaps because the witches were female Holmes?”

“Technicalities Watson! Do sit down so I can apply your make-up, we don’t have much time.”

Watson sighed and sat with a scowl. “We wouldn’t be in this fix if you would just _listen_.”

“To be fair Doctor, how could Mr Holmes know that their magic was real?”

A slight quiver of Watson’s lips indicated he did see the justice of Wilkins point, but the doctor pressed his own argument.

Wilkins felt most likely, because he spent far more time in Mr Holmes’ company being chased about by odd fellows and becoming mixed up in peculiar circumstances, thereby giving rise to the sentiment that Holmes ought to have considered the reality of magic.

“Holmes, the next time someone starts chanting and the _air becomes full of shimmering colours and foul smells_ , please can you consider the non-logical option? Just so I am not punching demons from Hades.”

Yes, he was right. Wilkins bit his lip to hide a grin. Even when cross Doctor Watson couldn’t project his anger for long, instead a fondness coloured every objection he made.

Wilkins admired the two men for their deep friendship and even though people said the detective had no feeling, Wilkins felt they were simply unobservant. He saw how worried Mr Holmes was over the doctor fighting shapeshifting demons.

It was in the manner in which he quickly, yet gently, smeared the make-up over Watson’s face and then helped him put a wig on and ragged robes over his clothes.

“Come here Wilkins.”

Wilkins glanced again at the door, then sat. Mr Holmes smiled warmly at him and Wilkins was startled at how gentle the detective was. _Oh, Mr Holmes was worried about him too._

As if reading his thoughts Mr Holmes just winked and continued.

With a few minutes he had been done and Mr Holmes had them reciting their lines when the door began to tremble.

“Speak your parts,” insisted Holmes, “it’ll confuse them and grant us time.”

Wilkins trusted Mr Holmes so launched into his delivery with a highly satisfying cackle, “ _When shall we three meet again, in thunder lightning or rain?_ ”

Doctor Watson rallied and was half-way through his reply when the air suddenly changed in the room, “ _When the hurly-burly’s done-”_

Heavily scented smoke filled the room, casting everything into looking shadows.

Through the dim glare he espied Mr Holmes shake his head and grimly continue.

Yet, even as Mr Holmes proved that the stage had lost a fine actor, a freezing cold gripped Wilkins and he heard a terrible shrieking as if those demons from the cellar were here. Shapes appeared in the smoke, bulging and collapsing.

Doctor Watson hissed, “Look!”

Even Mr Holmes faltered when his gaze fell on what his friend had noticed: a ring of blood appear had appeared around them. A horrid evil chant reached through the door and danced in wicked flames about the circle.

Terrified yet determined not to do anything stupid Wilkins stayed put. It was Doctor Watson, former soldier as well as doctor, who tried to stop the ritual by flinging the cauldron beside him at the shifting shapes.

The chant broke off causing the unfinished spell to snap and unravel. One of those loose ends lashed back at them with a physical force. They were engulfed in a roaring wind and Wilkins found Mr Holmes and the doctor including him in a tight embrace.

Cries echoed on the wind and for a long dreadful moment Wilkins thought they would end up…well…end up…downstairs, with all the other demons as company.

Yet as the wind swept about them, gathering them in a fierce embrace, it dropped and there was silence.

Gasping Wilkins blinked his eyes open to see fields of heather.

“Scotland,” remarked Mr Holmes in a perversely cheerful manner.

The man stood on shaky legs, looking odd in his costume. “Well, shall we see if we are in the same time period? I spy a lonely cottage over there. Let’s hope we have only been transported by distance and not in time.”

Wilkins caught Doctor Watson’s eye and agreed with the sentiment he saw there. Mr Holmes was having far too much fun.

Yet there was nothing for it, so he rose on weak legs and followed Mr Holmes with Doctor Watson beside him, busily wiping off his make-up and tugging off his costume.


End file.
